A Warrior Welcomed
by rat-patooty
Summary: Joseph Abernathy has waited eleven years to be accepted into the renowned North American school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ilvermorny. With the Sorting ceremony mere moments away, he can't help thinking the worst. Will any of the Houses see value in a kid like him?


Mercy Lewis, as his parents would say.

This was it.

Heart in his throat, Joseph Abernathy shuffled his weight from foot to foot. Growing up, eleven years had seemed like an _impossibly_ long length of time. But now, here he stood, within a blue-and-cranberry clad sea of other young men and women his age, anxiously awaiting their House Sorting at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Joseph blew out a breath, a jumble of nerves squirming inside him. His folks wouldn't mind where he was placed, he kept reminding himself. And _he_ sure wasn't particular—_any_ House that accepted him would suit him, fine and dandy. But that was just the thing, wasn't it? What if there was no room here for a little freak like him?

What would he do then?

Hungry for a distraction, Joseph cast his gaze about the circular room, and eventually settled upon a head of golden curls. The girl's hair seemed to glow in the light shining down through the glass ceiling, radiant in the throng of darker, duller colors. Completely by coincidence, she turned her head toward him. Joseph's heart stumbled for an entirely new reason. As if on cue, the girl's pretty face split into a gorgeous grin.

A loud voice startled him back to the present. The young professor who had guided the new students into the room was calling out from a roster of names.

"Abernathy, Joseph."

Joseph felt his stomach cave in on itself. He was going _first_?

He had half a mind to disappear, to Metamorph into someone else—but that would only create problems, rather than solve the one at hand.

Silently cursing his surname and the alphabet alike, he forced his feet toward the very center of the entrance hall, each step echoing in his head. He felt the weight of every pair of eyes upon him from the upper balcony, as well as on the ground floor, at his back. _Exposed_, his terrified mind whispered. His stomach felt increasingly ill, his entire body screaming for him to run. But he stayed his course, heart pounding beneath his ribs.

He came to a halt.

What would happen if he was not chosen?

What would he do then?

Joseph stared down at his shoes, at the gleaming metalwork of an intricate Celtic knot set into the floor.

_Courageous._

_ But not without fear—wise._

Joseph's head snapped upward, toward the voices that had addressed him. To his immense surprise, however, there was no one there. Instead, he was met by the four towering statues representing the Houses of Ilvermorny—Horned Serpent, Wampus, Thunderbird, and Puckwudgie. Joseph's eyes danced from one to another, but each carving remained immobile. He turned his head left and right, looking to see if any of the other students had reacted to the invisible speakers.

Suddenly, a cacophony of words and four distinct voices filled his ears. One woman, and three men. They spoke primarily in adjectives, all descriptive of Joseph's own character, the negative interspersed with the positive. Almost at once, the voice furthest to his right faded away, followed by the one immediately beside it. Soon, only the two left-most remained.

_Resourceful._ Female.

_Gifted_. A younger man.

Joseph's eyes widened. The statues. They were discussing him, weighing and measuring his worth. And now, he realized, it was a debate between the Horned Serpent and the Wampus cat, both vying for him.

_True. It is unique, rare._

_All-encompassing of mine own. Stand down. He belongs to me._

Joseph sensed, rather than heard, the Horned Serpent graciously relent. Her interest in him was more along the lines of fascination—relinquishing him cost her little. Satisfied, the Wampus cat opened its great maw, issuing forth a bone-shattering roar. There were several shrieks from the surrounding students, but the primal wail sent a surge through Joseph's body. Warmth spread to his sinew and muscle, stirring his limbs and invigorating him. His chest swelled. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful.

Indestructible.

As though he belonged.

The hall erupted in applause. Beaming, Joseph looked up at the excited faces of his classmates, several whistles and cheers coming from a group directly behind the Wampus statue. An adult, whom he had failed to notice before—presumably another professor—beckoned him forward, to the other side of the room. Barely tethered to the ground, Joseph moved toward her, unable to keep his smile from broadening.

He watched the rest of the Sorting, keeping the statues under close surveillance, trying to decipher whatever it was that led them to their respective decisions. But there was no visible pattern—no rhyme or reason for anyone to be placed in one House over another.

Then it was her turn.

The golden-haired girl stepped forward, her eyes trained on the statue of the Thunderbird, wide and beseeching. After a time, however, it was the Puckwudgie who claimed her, proudly raising his arrow. Something like loss briefly filled her gaze, but her smile was quick to return. As she scampered toward the crowd of Sorted students, Joseph was surprised to feel a small tug of disappointment.

The ceremony ended with resounding applause, but the students soon learned that their trials were far from over. The professor—Professor Hicks, he vaguely recalled—once again ushered them out of the room, into another of equally cavernous proportions. One long table dissected the room in half, behind which stood three witches and wizards, and a wall of bookshelves containing a countless number of long, thin boxes. Joseph felt his pulse quicken.

_Finally_.

In order to maintain a semblance of organization, Professor Hicks once again referenced her list. This time around, Joseph was thrilled to be at the top. He nearly tumbled to the floor in his haste to get to the nearest wandmaker.

The kindly, older man chuckled at his enthusiasm, and asked him, politely, for his wand arm. Joseph offered up his left. With a gentle dexterity, the wandmaker inspected his fingers and wrist before presenting him with his first option. Reverently, Joseph lifted the sleek instrument from its bed of velvet, and at the wandmaker's instruction, gave it a smart flick.

His heart sank a bit when nothing happened.

No matter, the wandmaker assured. The perfect combination of wood, length, and core was here somewhere, waiting for him. And with that, they tried another.

And another.

Cypress and Snallygaster heartstring, fir and Wampus hair. . . . It wasn't until they stumbled upon the pairing of cedar and Jackalope antler that anything of consequence occurred. Joseph felt the connection instantly, a comforting heat rising from the wood, into his palm and fingers. It was a beautiful wand—straight and simple, ending in a band of silver metal and a spiraling, jet hilt. It felt familiar when he gave it a confident wave through the air, like being reunited with an old friend. The wandmaker clapped his hands in delight as a series of sparks rained down from its tip.

Stuttering his thanks, Joseph once again moved toward the opposite end of the room, allowing the next student to come forth. He stared down at his handsome, new wand, his thumb idly stroking the polished grain. Classes had not even begun, and yet, he knew already that saying goodbye to it at the end of term would be torture.

Like the Sorting ceremony, the wand selection process eventually drew to a close. All of the students in his year swarmed together, admiring and showing off their new sources of channeling magic. Above the chatter, Professor Hicks called for their attention. She beamed at them fondly, informing them that, now that they were all formally inducted into the great North American school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the evening would conclude with a celebratory feast in the castle's dining hall.

Joseph's appetite awoke at the promise of food. Now that the initial panic and doubt had subsided, he was left with a sensation of immense fatigue. But it felt good, he noticed. It was the kind of exhaustion that came after a hard day's work. His classmates seemed to share his sentiments, shuffling into a makeshift line as quickly as possible. Nodding her approval, Professor Hicks escorted them from the wand hall, and off toward the delicious reward that awaited them.

"Hey, you're in Wampus, too, aren't you?"

Joseph swiveled around to face the boy who had spoken. He was grinning, his hand already thrust outward in greeting. Joseph smiled and clumsily shook the boy's hand, a bit overzealous in both his enthusiasm and disuse of his right hand.

"Yeah, that's right, I am." He tightened his grip. "I'm Joe, by the way. Joe Abernathy."

Student of Ilvermorny.

Wampus.

Warrior.


End file.
